Page 67 of Knot So Sweet
I pick up my mug, then set it back down without drinking. "The idea of giving someone that kind of power over me..." I shake my head, my hair falling forward. "I can't. Not right now. Maybe not for a long time."
His hand moves across the table slowly, deliberately. It stops just short of touching mine. The space between our fingers is barely an inch, but it feels electric. Charged. I can feel the heat radiating from his skin.
"What if it didn't have to be like that?" His voice is low, intimate.
I stare at our hands, at the tiny space between them. My pinky finger twitches, wanting to close that gap. "It's always like that." My voice is barely a whisper. "Someone always wants more. Wants to shape you into what they need. And I can't..." I pull my hand back, tucking it into my lap. "I won't lose myself again."
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I see the struggle in his expression. The alpha instinct to pursue, to claim, to reach across the table and take what he wants. It wars with genuine respect for my boundaries, and I can see the effort it takes him to hold back. His scent intensifies, cedar and vanilla with an edge of something darker, more primal. It makes my omega side sing with want even as my mind screams at me to protect myself.
He pulls his hand back slowly, mirroring my retreat. "I understand." His voice comes out rough, strained. "I don't like it, but I understand."
"Do you?" I lean forward again, unable to help myself. My elbows rest on the table, bringing me closer to him despite my better judgment. The air between us feels thick,charged. "Because I need you and Garrick and Xaden to really understand. I like you all. I do." My voice drops lower, more intimate. "More than I should. More than is smart. But I like my freedom more. And I'm not going to sacrifice one for the other."
"We're not asking you to." His voice is gentle but firm. He leans back slightly, giving me space even though I can tell it costs him. "Whatever you need, Violet. However much space you need. We're not going anywhere."
The words settle between us, heavy with promise and patience. Part of me wants to believe him. Part of me is terrified to.
"I should get back to work," I say softly, gesturing to the laptop. "Mrs. Henderson's waiting."
Liam stands, the movement slow and deliberate. He pauses beside the booth, looking down at me. "For what it's worth? We'll respect any decision you make. All of us. Whether you stay or go to Texas or anywhere else. But we hope you'll stay."
He leaves, and I stare at my screen for a long moment, his words echoing in my head. Mrs. Henderson returns, chattering about cross-promotion strategies, but I barely hear her.
I'm free. And for now, that has to be enough.
17
VIOLET
After hours, the bakery is dark. Most folks are at home, having eaten dinner, watching TV or playing board games. The rest are probably out drinking. And me? I'm alone as the key digs into my palm. This was supposed to be quick. Dump and walk away. Instead, I jam the key in the lock and shove the door open.
The place still smells like sugar and cinnamon, warm and smug, like it knows I'll crawl back. My chest squeezes tight, and I tell myself it's just the air. Definitely not regret. I slap the key on the counter. Clean break.
Except now I need somewhere to sleep that isn't this stupid town, and the thought makes my stomach twist.
"Violet?" a female voice asks.
I whip around, heart hammering. Meredith stands in the doorway, her burgundy coat bright against the darkness. Her usual professional composure has melted into something softer, more concerned.
"I heard about this morning," she explains, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "I thought maybe you could use a drink and a friend. Not necessarily in that order."
"I'm returning the key." I gesture toward the counter, my voice coming out smaller than I want.
Meredith unwraps her scarf with deliberate movements, studying my face in the dim light. "Mrs. Henderson called this afternoon. She's worried about you."
"She doesn't need to be." I cross my arms defensively. "I just... I can't work somewhere I'm not wanted."
Meredith's brown eyes soften with understanding. She moves closer, her footsteps soft on the worn wooden floors. The faint scent of lavender follows her, reminding me of my grandmother's garden.
I sag against the counter, every hour of the whole awful day pulling me down. But instead of saying I'm fine, all I manage is: "It's complicated."
"There's a bar outside town," she says gently. "Nothing fancy, but they make decent whiskey sours and have a jukebox full of '80s hits. Sometimes a girl needs to talk without the whole town eavesdropping."
I blink at the unexpected invitation, surprised by the kindness. "You want to take me drinking?"
"I think you deserve some fun. Don't you?" Meredith smiles.
I glance around the dark bakery one last time, at the counter where my key sits like a line I finally crossed. This place felt like home until this morning reminded me I don't really belong anywhere.
